


Superior Firepower

by badwolfbadwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Chris is 21, Dubious Consent, Facials, Gun Kink, Humiliation, M/M, Mentions of Breeding, Peter is between 18-20, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 08:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2222217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbadwolf/pseuds/badwolfbadwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris finds an eager pet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Superior Firepower

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goddessofcruelty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/gifts).



> Happy (belated) birthday to the wonderful goddessofcruelty!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Dubious consent because though Peter is absolutely enthusiastic in my opinion, he is being held at gunpoint.

Chris doesn’t even know what he’s doing in the bar. He’s not much of a drinker, doesn’t like the loss of control. But he’s got his pistol strapped to him, dirt on his boots, and blood on his hands for the first time in his twenty-one years of life, so he decides that perhaps a drink is in order.

He’s nursing his watery beer, back firmly against the wall, taking in the patrons and wondering who would make good prey for the night. He feels an itching beneath his skin, a sudden darkness blotting out his inhibitions, a fierceness in the set of his teeth. There’s a girl at the bar, perhaps underage, blonde curly hair down to her back, and red, plump lips. She looks over at him like she can feel his eyes, smiles sweetly, flicks her eyes down and then back up flirtatiously.

Chris takes another swig of his beer and sets down the bottle, wiping the condensation off on his tight jeans and swinging his legs over the side of the booth to stand. He’s just dropped to the floor and has taken one step forward when someone brushes past him, the scent as familiar to him as gunpowder or leather. _Werewolf._

Chris immediately drops back, sinking into his seat, keeping his heart rate steady. He doesn’t want to alert the wolf, and Chris briefly looks around, sweeping his gaze over the patrons to see if there are any more surprises. There’s no one else, the wolf seems to be alone, and Chris hitches up his leg on the post beneath the table, fingering against the cool metal of his gun slung on his hip, licking his lips and tasting the last bit of beer. 

He takes his time to observe, watching the wolf as he sits on a stool at the bar. He’s tall and thin, his bomber jacket hanging on his wiry frame, and brown hair flopping over his forehead, with bright pink lips stretched over the mouth of his beer bottle. He looks young—younger than Chris—definitely underaged, and Chris feels that quiet whisper of _hunt_ course down through his fingertips as he strokes the safety of his gun.

There’s enough time to think through tactics as he starts on his second beer, his mind only slightly fuzzy, his excitement growing as the kid hiccups into his drink and laughs at something the bartender says to him. He’s so _unaware_ , and it makes Chris smirk.

He makes his move, sidling up behind him, letting the wolf feel the press of his cock, the slide of his leather jacket before he’s on the other side and buying him another drink.

“Peter,” the boy says.

“Chris.” Chris smiles, eyes drawn to the pink lips, the wide smile. He’s going to ruin that boy.

It only takes one more drink and they’re stumbling out into the fresh air, laughing at nothing, fingers brushing. Chris pulls them around the corner, the alleyway dirty and dark between the two buildings, only a spluttering streetlight to illuminate the curves of the boy’s face, the cut of his chin, the bright blue of his eyes. 

He’s pretty, _so_ pretty, and Chris feels his cock swell as he presses the boy up to the wall and kisses him hard, his hand fisted in the jacket. The wolf opens so easily to him, head falling back against the brick wall so Chris can mouth at his neck. Chris almost laughs because this display is so wolf-like it’s ridiculous, and he can’t quite believe this kid is letting himself be so vulnerable with an absolute stranger. Sucking a bruise into his throat, Chris reaches for both of the skinny wrists, gathering them together with one hand and then pulling away to pin them above the boy’s head.

He’s squirming deliciously in Chris’ grip, thin hips trying to press forward, and Chris grins as he trails one hand over the lovely, full lips and dips his thumb inside. _Dumb animal_ , he thinks as he drags the pad across the rough tongue and runs it over the sharp canines. He hooks down into Peter’s jaw and tugs it open, thinking about filling the wolf up, making him gag, bringing tears to those pretty blue eyes.

Dropping his hand, Chris reaches down to his hip, the thrill of the hunt wild in his quick-beating heart and shooting like lightning down to his boots. The metal of the gun is cold, familiar in Chris’ hand, and when he brings it up, steady and sure, he feels his dick chub up the rest of the way with the absolute rush of _power_. 

The click of the safety is loud and Chris has one satisfying moment of smugness as he watches the wolf tense into a straight line, chin tipped up as Chris presses the muzzle of his gun beneath the soft flesh there.

And then something unexpected happens. The wolf—Peter, Chris remembers—lets out a pathetic sounding noise, almost like a whine. And then he shifts his legs. And thrusts forward with his hips, making their cocks brush, and _oh shit_ , Chris should not be as turned on by that as he is.

“Knew you were a hunter,” Peter rasps out, body stock still against the hard brick save for the slight grind of hips. “Argent?” he guesses, and Chris has to use every ounce of willpower to remain stoic, unaffected. He digs the gun in further, watching the way Peter’s eyes widen slightly.

“Don’t think we’ve met before,” Chris grunts, a bit uncomfortable at the unusual reaction to a loaded firearm aimed with intent. He slides the barrel of the gun up over Peter’s jaw, curious. There’s an almost-laugh from Peter, and he rubs his cheek into the metal as if he’s a big cat before turning to catch the edge with his tongue.

“What are you going to do with me, Argent?” Peter says coyly, and Chris decides it looks like the wolf’s enjoying this entirely too much. He weighs his options briefly, his dick straining against his zipper making his decision for him. This isn’t what he was planning on doing tonight, but he’s not about to turn down the chance to humiliate a stupid wolf. Especially not when this one is so willing to be used.

“Knees,” he grunts, eyes narrowing as Peter looks pleased and sinks down with grace, his lashes looking even longer as he looks up at Chris through them. “This a familiar position for you?” Chris spits, just because he can.

Peter is unrattled, though, quirks an eyebrow up and finally loses a bit of his cocky smugness as Chris points the gun straight at his forehead. Chris’ hand is unwavering, the buzz of his drinks fading away with the clarity of the moment, the dirt of the alleyway, the weight of hard metal, Peter’s wide, young eyes. He moves the gun downward, over the tip of Peter’s nose, and Peter’s eyes cross, making Chris’ lips curl up in a smirk at the dog-like behavior.

Then Peter tips his head back, pushes his lips right up against the muzzle of the gun, parts them slightly. “Gonna fuck my mouth, _Argent?_ Show me how superior you are? How you, the big bad hunter, can take down the little, dull-witted _monster?_ ”

Chris knows the boy is just taunting him; he can feel the strings being pulled. But his voice is so rich, so smug, that Chris can’t quite resist, pushing the gun further and watching the silver barrel slide past Peter’s soft pink lips. His finger’s still on the trigger, breath caught in his throat. One little twitch and he could end this stupid wolf’s life. And he’s fucking _letting_ him do it.

Now that the gun is in Peter’s mouth he’s shut up, and Chris plays with him a little, pulling back and forth, Peter’s tongue pink at the edges of his mouth when Chris draws it back. “Suck,” Chris orders, and Peter surges forward, lips wrapped around the metal, eyes closed tightly. Chris doesn’t quite know what to do with his other hand and he steps forward into the wolf’s space, turning slightly so he can get his hand on the scruff of his neck and hold him in place.

“Can’t believe what a little slut I’ve found,” Chris murmurs, pulling Peter off the gun and looking down at his glazed-over expression and wet, open lips. “Want to beg for my gun? For my cock?” Chris taps the muzzle along Peter’s bottom lip, slides it wetly along Peter’s chin, dragging along his neck and down to rest near his heart. He can practically feel the wolf vibrating in his grip, eyes darkened, legs spread and hands clasped behind his back though Chris hasn’t said anything about them.

“Please,” Peter says quietly, and Chris pulls him back further, makes him bare his throat, turns his gun sideways to scrape the ridges along Peter’s sensitive skin, feeling when he swallows.

He waits until Peter’s looking at him again. “Please what?” 

Peter tries to lick at the gun but it’s just out of reach, Chris still holding him tightly by the neck. “Please let me suck you.” Peter doesn’t seem to have much pride, maybe submitted a little _too_ easily, and Chris eyes him, half-suspectful of a trap.

He pauses for a moment, thinks. “No.”

Peter whimpers, young face drawn into a beautiful frown, freezing up when Chris points the gun straight at his forehead again. He palms himself, rubbing the stiff fabric of his jeans against his cock before making a quick decision and tugging down the zipper. “You want it too much.”

And Peter doesn’t argue with that, sitting back on his feet and pouting like a petulant teenager. Though, really. He can’t be that far from that age. Chris feels dirty for even thinking that thought but thumbs open the button on his jeans anyways, his dick not really caring about ethics or morals or any of those pesky human hangups.

“You stupid wolves are always claiming you’re the same as us. Or _superior_ ,” Chris begins as he pulls out his cock from his underwear and gives himself a lazy tug. They watch as the foreskin slides over the head, as Chris’ thumb swipes across the wet tip making himself groan. “But here you are on your knees in front of me. Begging to be used by a hunter.”

It’s difficult trying to hold the gun steady and jerk himself off, Chris’ body already overheating with his jacket still on, his hands growing sweaty. He’s so keyed up already though, his tongue heavy in his mouth, the blood rushing through his veins as he feels his body tense further and further.

“We both know you’re just a dirty little beast. Who wants to get fucked. And bred. Don’t you, puppy?”

Peter just nods, obviously struggling to remain still, his mouth hanging open like it wants to be filled. Chris drops the gun to Peter’s shoulder, using it to loop him closer, brushing Peter’s lips with his dick with each jerk forward. Peter tries to lick at him but Chris tilts away every time he does until Peter finally stills and obeys, nostrils flaring as he scents the precome and sweat.

Chris takes his finger off the trigger as he feels his orgasm rolling up from his cock, a flash of heat tingling over his skin. He swears under his breath and then spurts out over the wolf’s lips and cheek, a creamy white line painting across the long nose while Peter darts his tongue out to taste. He gets in one lick to Chris’ over-sensitive dick before Chris pulls away, his reaction time dulled as he pants heavily. Chris shifts the gun in his grip, a little startled at the quick orgasm, his hand still wet with his own come, and the kneeling and flushed werewolf licking his lips in front of him.

They are silent for a moment until Chris reholsters his gun and zips his pants back up, grimacing slightly at the uncomfortable feeling of his still-tacky dick pressed against him. 

“I guess your type is good for something,” Chris says curtly, pushing two fingers into Peter’s waiting mouth and groaning when he sucks them in further. Peter’s still obviously hard in his pants, whimpering slightly and face covered in Chris’ come, and Chris feels a perverse satisfaction as he takes a step backward, leaving the wolf there come-stained and wanting. Still, he doesn’t turn his back on him, not for a second, the danger really more of a thrill than an impediment to his still-buzzing afterglow. Peter remains on his knees docilely, though, until Chris is out of the alleyway.

Chris feels electrified the whole way home, just making it to his bed to jerk off to the thought of pushing the wolf down, making him get on his hands and knees, making him _howl_ for it.

He shows up at the bar the following weekend, ignoring the feeling that his father would be so disappointed in him. It’s easy to forget when he sees Peter’s there, in the booth Chris had been sitting in last time, smirking like an asshole.

“Back for more, pup?” Chris says, voice rough. Peter grins and nods.


End file.
